craft stars

the clock ticked, a quiet demand for the evening's livable grace to surrender to bed.

but the human woke the soul for a walk under the night sky.
instead of stars, he caught only planes.

after an evening muttering through artificial intelligence, this plane-occupied sky was more than in order.

the quiet tide began to hum,
a naked night dip in the river washed it all down.

everything disappeared.

you, me. stars, planes.
and dreams.

all that was left, a human, of Diogenes’ plans